The Arch-nemesis Job
by Valawenel
Summary: Set in Portland. My version of The Japan Job. They are preparing for The Rundown Job in Washington - Nate has to solve unexpected crisis in the team... while Eliot is doing something, ekhm, irrelevant. :D Warning - minor spoilers for TSSJ. Part 5 or 6 in the 'The Texas Mountain Laurel' series - at this moment following only The Season Six Job until I write more stories in between.


**People, I have trouble with my inbox here, can't get to messages so I can't reply to your reviews you leave on The Season Six Job. Sorry, I'm waiting for glitch to get fixed.**

**This story has a slight spoiler for The Season Six Job. You know they will all live and that they'll solve the problems. Yet, you don't know HOW it will be done. I mentioned nothing about HOW, don't worry. There is, though, one small note about Florence connected with Eliot - in this fic you'll see only aftermath, what happened after a few months - you won't know what happened at the end of The Season Six Job with the two of them.**

**Just in case, if you don't want to know even that, don't read the last little scene.**

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- The Arch Nemesis Job -

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Nothing indicated that that day would be any different than a usual post-job day.

They gathered pretty late, around lunch, because Hardison insisted on watching that old zombie movie the night before, in spite of everybody's jet lag and tiredness. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, Nate had to admit, because popcorn, a funny movie and rest relaxed everybody, and cleared their minds from the Japan Job.

Amy's presence was something unusual. They hadn't had anybody so close to their work since Florence McCoy, and maybe that reminder was the cause of Eliot's bad mood. He didn't say a word through the entire movie, except when he found out that his notes about the proper care of George, written for Parker, were still in closed the envelope where he had left them before they'd left. The plant, however, simply didn't have enough time to die or wither in their short absence, so he calmed down after checking the water and adjusting the light.

The Japan Job had been unnerving and stressful for all of them – well, differently stressful - and slowly adjusting to the familiar vibes was welcomed.

The post-job briefing was postponed and no time was set, yet everybody gathered around the same time. Hardison and Parker climbed down from their apartment – Parker insisting on the rope slide to the big chair set up for her – and Eliot and Sophie came together, still debating about the sapphire, turquoise or aquamarine eyes on the golden monkey. It seemed that the issue would stretch on for eternity, because their arguments had gone into an alchemist–metaphysical–mythology driven fight. Simply having the jewels analyzed to determine their form was so beyond their present state that Nate decided not to mention it until absolutely necessary.

They all settled at the big table with Parker in front of them, in the chair – she turned upside down, putting her legs on the backrest, so she could see them above her. She was vibrating with accumulated energy, eagerly waiting to hear everything about the job for which all of them agreed she better not knowing anything about. Nate had no idea how Hardison managed to avoid all her questions about it, but judging by his tired features, he kept up a good battle.

There was, really, no use in disturbing Parker with Hardison's last moment escape from a firing squad, Eliot's sword fight that could have easily ended with him coming home in two separate boxes, and Sophie's accidentally pushing Japan into a war with North Korea during that diplomatic dinner… Well, after that dinner, they all knew a few more things: Emperor Akihito had a heart condition, and he should not be disturbed, for the sake of the world peace… it _was_ possible to be accused of treason on behalf of a nonexistent Micronesian country… yes, the Emperor's granddaughter, slender and beautiful, _did_ have a sex change operation, and saké didn't mix well with poisoned cherries.

Sometimes, Nate wondered if his headache was a permanent state, or he had just ceased to notice its ups and downs anymore.

However, Parker ought to know nothing about that fiasco that almost got them all killed, repeatedly. _Do not disturb the patient_, was the collective mantra. Or the patient will disturb them all – that was an addition he was sure all of them repeated silently.

He was damn tired. That job started with a simple Plan A, and ended not with the better part of alphabet, no, that would've been too easy… the plans changed so fast that the letters started to form words.

He put his elbows on the table, enjoying his coffee, listening to Hardison trying not to coo while bringing Parker her pills, but it didn't brighten his day like it used to do in the past few months. They all needed a rest.

"Have you been listening to me at all the last ten minutes, or did you just repeat sapphire, sapphire, sapphire in your head so you couldn't hear a word I say?" Sophie's voice rose into high pinch of irritation. "Of course I know that bloody turquoise is not faceted, I was talking about the nuance! Once and for all – turquoise hued aquamarine, Eliot, not greenish sapphire. And what the hell should be 'slightly greenish'? Have you seen the Dom Pedro aquamarine? Well, _that_ isn't turquoise hue."

"Do you want it?" Parker asked before Eliot could form the words behind the smoke and fire coming out of his nose.

"Do I want _what_?" Sophie turned to her, surprised.

"Dom Pedro. It's in the National Museum of Natural History. I planned to get it, it would be perfect for my table in the warehouse with light behind it, but, it's funny, I got bored searching for the appropriate bag for it – that kind of obelisk you can't carry out under your arm, right – and then I got distracted with emeralds in New York."

"No, Parker, I don't want the Dom Pedro aquamarine," Sophie stated softly.

"Maybe we can plan to see it when we go to Washington the next time?" Parker looked at him with anticipation. "We _will_ be going to Washington?"

"Not if I… No, Parker, I doubt it." Nate slowly exhaled. "And even if we go, we certainly won't go chasing sapph"–he squinted, whipped by Sophie's glare–"aquamarines. Of whatever hue."

"I miss jewels," she said sadly, and sank lower in the chair. "The National Museum of Natural History- oh, Eliot, the Hall sapphire and diamond necklace is also there, we should really go and – I mean, you could see those sapphires and then decide if they really are the same that you saw, or-"

Eliot had one hand over his eyes since Parker asked about Dom Pedro, but now he covered his face with the other one too. "Parker, no. No trips to Washington. No _diamonds_ in Washington. Ever."

"Four hundred and thirty five diamonds in one necklace," she whispered, her eyes completely glazed over.

Hardison stopped his hand that was stretched with his palm up, pills on it, took one pill away, and gave them to her with a tired sigh.

"And now, Japan," Parker shifted in her seat in to get more comfortable – comfortable by her standards, anyway – position, and smiled gleefully. "Tell me everything."

Dead silence fell in the room. Nate noticed the quick glance that Sophie and Eliot exchanged, and started to question their fight from the beginning.

"We destroyed everything that should have been destroyed," Hardison started slowly. "We saved all the monkeys, in all different shapes and different hued eyes, that could have been saved, and Eliot fought many Japanese." He looked at the hitter. "They are smaller, are they counted as one person, or three Japanese are about two big guys, or-"

Nate took a sip of coffee, watching the fight going on inside the hitter, the fight between the annoyance that Hardison's babbling automatically provoked, and accepting that as a useful distraction for Parker. Much to his surprise, the advantages of distraction prevailed.

"It depends if they are unarmed or not. Nine small guards are like dominoes… push one and all the rest follow in line, but those guys with swords can't be counted as smaller… in their case, they are quicker and more dangerous, speed is the most important."

"Emperor's granddaughter was small too, I remember," Sophie stated innocently, and Eliot flinched.

Parker's eyes narrowed slightly. Nate watched her, not sure if that was only the effect of the pills, or she saw through their stalling, but Eliot skipped her questions.

"Going to check on lunch. Or breakfast, whatever. Be back in the-" His phone rang right at the moment he stood up, and he sighed in relief – the phone call would remove him from the conversation and direct Parker's attention to others, and he didn't have to run away to the kitchen with his tail between his legs. Damn, that granddaughter _was_ beautiful, even Nate had to admit that.

Eliot waited one second before accepting the call. "Parker, ask her about the sapphires," he motioned to Sophie with an evil grin, and turned around before the grifter could answer. "Hi, Shelley, what's up? Back in the States, or still pacing some jungle?" He walked away and lowered his voice, the perfect trick that threw him out of the conversation, while in fact he was only a few meters away and able to hear them.

Parker didn't need any directing. "Okay, I get it… you won't tell me any details, because it was more complicated than it should be, right?"

"Nah, I wouldn't call it complicated," Hardison smiled. Of course it wasn't complicated, it was _deadly_. "We had a few pretty intense moments, but all the jobs are the same… boring preparations and intense execution. In fact, the most important part is my notes about how the speakers performed, and Nate, you _have_ to hear it." Hardison widened his eyes for a second, shooting him significant stare.

"Of course, I'm all ears," he smiled and stopped his hand that was going to press his temples; the word _speakers_ brought back very unpleasant memories, and suddenly almost present sounds of street riots… Jesus, they were only a few minutes from launching The Sixth Fleet into Pacific. If Eliot's opponent's sword hadn't broken, and they used it to… he stopped his thoughts as well as his hand, smiled at Hardison again, and nodded him to continue.

"I upgraded the internal power supply. Its layout had been revised and the quality of the components improved; it now includes thingies such as Vishay metal film resistors and Murata capacitors, yet electrostatics tend to excel at midrange. I noticed that when we used it with the Kanack case."

"And the point is…?"

"There's a touch of excess richness around the bass and a slight lack of brilliance to the treble," Hardison said solemnly.

They all stared at him.

"Wait a sec, Shelley." Eliot turned to them, lowering his phone, and stared at Hardison too. "A slight lack of brilliance to the treble? Seriously?"

"Hey, man, don't shoot the messenger," Hardison spread his arms. "It's a serious problem, and I'll have to work on it for days."

Eliot rolled his eyes and started to pace the room again, lowering his voice as he continued the conversation.

Hardison darted a stare at the hitter's boots. "Let's imagine, for example, that his boots don't make any sound – I know it's hard to imagine that, he stomps – to reproduce exactly that dull, irritating sound, I'll have to work on a measured yet precise approach to rhythm replay and enough bass weight…"

"Hardison, the speakers worked perfectly," Sophie jumped in, giving him a cue when he stopped in search of inspiration, studying Parker's unimpressed face.

"They worked now. Maybe the next time we'll need very subtle control of-"

Sophie sighed and waved her hand. "Look, I'm tired. I really don't want to listen to speaker specifications. And I'm hungry. Parker, what's on the menu today?" She obviously decided to try a different approach; his wasn't working.

Hardison squeaked and in just one second they were drawn into a debate about what was more important, life-saving speakers, or food for the brain that could work on the life-saving speakers – and to Nate's surprise, that worked because Parker took Sophie's side. He wasn't sure how distracted from Japan she really was, but they were on a good path.

They continued for a few more minutes, and Sophie managed to hoist Parker from the chair and they went to the kitchen. The silence was welcome, broken only by Hardison's sigh of relief.

Silence?

Nate glanced at Eliot who was still pacing up and down, but there was no sound of his boots to hear anymore. He even checked if he had them on still – yep, they were on his feet. He just stopped making noise. And from what he could see, he did it without knowing it, still concentrating on his conversation with Shelley.

Hardison went to help the girls, and immediately returned with more coffee.

"That's not a location, Shelley." Nate listened to Eliot's voice – completely normal, maybe even slightly amused. "You're describing 500 square miles. Location is, like… this barn, this village, that hill… not a place the size of a small state." Nothing showed that something unusual was happening, yet his suddenly soundless steps made his pacing light, swift, deadly graceful. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, give me a call when you get back, gotta go now. Yes, I will." Eliot ended the call and joined them at the table, taking his coffee. "Shelley sends regards, he'll be back in the States in month or two so he plans to drop by."

"Where is he now?" Hardison asked.

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask," Eliot smiled. "Working."

"And he called you from a secret mission just to say hi?" Nate said.

"He was lonely," Eliot smiled again. "We sometimes exchange news," he added as an afterthought and grimaced at Hardison. "So, speakers? You should go with describing that horticultural exhibition with the performances – they had better security than the Palace."

"And add rare seeds to her wish list, along with diamonds? No man, the point was to distract her from Japan, not to make her interested."

The hitter sighed and elbowed the table. "This is gonna be a fucking long day, and I'm tired already." He spent a few seconds staring at the table, as if contemplating thumping his forehead on it, then sighed again. "We don't have to be here, right? Nate? There's no job waiting for us, and we all need a rest from that Japan shit."

"I have a few potential clients, but no, nothing in the next couple of days," he replied, leaning back in his seat so he could see both of them better. "Besides, we are out a thief, remember?"

"You're not planning to skip and leave us to answer her questions, right?" Hardison shot Eliot a disapproving look.

"No, I plan to take you with me, and leave two of them with Parker. You owe me a fishing trip, remember? Is there a better time for that than now? Even better, we'll find some good rapids so you can paddle along with fishing, and be in nature for few days."

Hardison choked. "Me, paddle? You mean, like in a boat? With banjos?"

"Canoe, Hardison. What, you sit all day, so you can sit in a canoe for a change. Only difference is that you don't use only your fingers, but arms. Paddling is not so demanding."

Surprisingly, Hardison looked as if he was thinking about it for a moment.

"Freezing cold water, rapids, mosquitoes, wild animals, piranhas, alligators?" he finally asked. "Grizzlies, perhaps, too?"

"Yes, and at least three kangaroos." This time Eliot _did_ bump his head on the table, and stayed there. "You're an idiot."

"No, I just don't want to leave Parker when she's hurt, after I just returned from another continent. If you wait couple of weeks, I might reconsider that, that… gruesome thing."

"Nope, I'm going, with or without you."

"Fine."

"Fine!" Eliot grumbled.

"Fine!"

"Maybe we could send Parker with Eliot," Nate jumped in before they continued, and got two identical aghast looks. "What? She can sit, right?" he added innocently. "The whole day in a canoe, resting her leg, while you paddle endlessly and answer her questions…"

"I'll go check that food," Eliot jumped to his feet. "And then I'm offline, off track, off earbuds, off the phone… finally alone."

Nate just smirked, because Hardison expected him to do so, but he followed the hitter with his eyes over the cup of coffee.

His steps were still soundless.

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Nobody mentioned Japan while they ate. Parker didn't mention anything she was doing, either, but nobody seemed to notice that, not even Hardison.

When they returned to the back room, Eliot made Hardison search for rapids, canoeing and fishing arrangements across the entire state, until he was satisfied with ten final destinations, scattered all over the US, one even in Canada. Besides that, he didn't show any intentions of moving anywhere, he nursed his beer, occupying Parker's chair. He chased Parker away pretty mercilessly, but the thief didn't sit at the table with the rest of them, she hung herself and hovered on the rope at eye level, but above Eliot's head, slightly swinging. Nate was wondering not if, but when, she would decide to tap on his head with her foot.

Hardison gave up when Eliot pulled up four different documentary films about canoeing and wild rapids fishing, explaining him all beauties of nature and hard work, so he gathered Parker and shooed her in the apartment with him, to rest.

Sophie had plans for the afternoon, plans that included him, walking and visiting a few places he wasn't very eager to see, but as time went by and Nate just continued to sit there, she got the message. Nate could sense her tentacles checking the atmosphere to see what was happening – she might catch something unusual, but she surely couldn't figure out what.

After her question, neutrally formed, about afternoon plans, which Nate answered as if they didn't have any at all, she said she would call him later and left, leaving him to continue with whatever he was doing.

Well, he wasn't sure what he was doing either… not completely sure, to be precise.

He took his glass and the bottle, brought a smaller chair to the giant one in which Eliot was still sitting, and sat beside him.

"Good distraction with the aquamarines. It almost worked."

"It worked, but not long enough. And the monkey's eyes were sapphires, Nate."

"Since when are you an expert on jewels?"

"I'm not. But I put them in the statue myself a few years ago."

"Ah, The Gutman job? Or should I say, one of the Gutman's jobs?"

"Yep. I couldn't take the monkey the first time I tried, so I made sure the replica I brought with me was stated as the original. The eyes were the first thing they looked at, and without any other reference, they declared the sapphire-eyed monkey the original, because of its worth. I expected the real one to be removed and put away somewhere with less security."

"You put two priceless jewels in it, ten times the worth of the statue, just to finish the job?"

"Well, I didn't finish it, right?" he smiled. "That place 'with less security' happened to be North Korea. Shit happens."

Nate said nothing. He waited.

It took three sips of the beer before Eliot finally turned the screens off and turned in the chair to face him.

"We need to talk," Eliot said slowly. At a quick glance it could have been mistaken for hesitation.

Nate swirled his drink. "We don't have any immediate job on our hands right now, and though Parker's six weeks of immobility are nearly done, she won't be able to do everything like usual," Nate said. "I planned to give everybody a few days off. But I don't think that three or four days will be enough for you. I presume you need six to nine, right?"

There was still chance that Nate was talking about fishing, he could clearly see that thought in Eliot's eyes, that cautious weighing, so he continued. "What would you do if Hardison said he would go fishing with you? That was a good way to calm his eventual future suspicions, but it was risky."

Well, that ended his weighing, and a quick smile flew over the hitter's face. He didn't look worried, Nate noticed, and it was a good sign. Eliot looked… almost speeded up, in spite of his relaxed composure and calm smile.

"I'd find a fishing spot near some SF convention or weirdo geek gathering, and after a fight let him skip away and go to it, pretending I found a woman who would keep me busy for the next few days," Eliot answered, then sighed and shook his head. "Alright, _how_?"

"You were very careful not to show that Shelley's news disturbed you, but it did. It's something connected to the military, probably your past, and it's also not in the USA. If it's somewhere near, I do believe you would tell us, and ask for our help," he paused and pinned him with his eyes. "Would you, Eliot?"

He thought for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yeah, I would. If it was here, I would tell you. But it isn't, and I have to go."

"How long?"

"Six days, minimum."

"You won't tell me where and what's going on?"

"I won't tell you where, it's better if you don't know…" Eliot hesitated, then went on. "It's one debt I have to pay – not because I have to, but because I _want_ to. In fact, I don't want _any _of you to know what I'll do. It's something… personal. Close to home."

"Which home, Eliot?" he asked.

He pursed his lips in a thin line for a moment. He exhaled slowly. "This home."

So, it wasn't something from _his_ past, it was something from _their_ present – all at once, hundreds of potential troubles went through his head, most of them connected to Boston.

"No, nothing like that," Eliot smiled, knowing where his mind went. "It's just slightly connected with the team – more likely, it's connected to one of our jobs. Some debts to some people are still due. I was waiting all this time for a chance to settle it, that's all."

Yes, but Shelley brought the news. Shelley who wasn't very connected to their work, except for that night in Boston, the night that later triggered more mess. Nate dearly hoped that Eliot wasn't lying to him. He looked for the signs of lies, or faking the truth, but none were there – Eliot simply told him as much as he wanted to tell him. He respected that, but privacy and solitary decisions were overrated, especially in their line of work. The last few months in Boston taught them all that, not in a pleasant way.

"What are the chances for you to return?" he asked calmly.

"What a strange way to form that question," Eliot arched an eyebrow at him, and smiled easily. "I don't know. I don't know the situation and what's waiting for me, don't even know what I'll have to do. That's why I need six days at least – intel will take up most of it. It won't be any worse than the things I've done before."

"You're sure your chances wouldn't go up if we were there with you?"

"Sure – not your playground. Besides, I don't want you there, I've already told you I don't want _anybody_ to know about this. When I come back, consider that it didn't happen at all, okay? Try to keep Hardison off my back if he starts to suspect something – I won't be within reach most of the time, maybe not at all."

Well, that certainly excluded his offer of back up and contact from here to wherever he was going, so he just skipped that question. "What if it goes south?"

"If I don't return, well, it went south. There's nothing you can do about it."

"Try again."

Eliot sighed. "Okay," he said gruffly. "If it goes south, I'll try to find some way to let you know. But I can't promise that."

"Fair enough."

And that was it, nothing more to say. Nate poured one more drink, Eliot brought one more bottle, and they watched the rest of the Pecos fishing trail in comfortable silence.

It was Friday, he remembered later.

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Saturday was dedicated to helping Hardison write down the most innocent version of their Japan Job; the hacker took the matter very seriously, and handed them both a first draft to read when they came in the office the next morning.

Sophie didn't ask anything when they met in the evening and went to dinner.

_The street riots_ were scratched out and the new explanation said: after a long, pleasant walk through the streets of Tokyo, surrounding the park by the Emperor's Palace, we managed to learn everything about cultural diversity, and watch the live parade in honor of Japanese martial arts. Some of us even took a place in the parade, closely connecting with the local people, exchanging the knowledge and good vibes. The torches and fireworks were _beautiful_.

Sophie almost choked on her coffee. Hardison didn't take her laughing well.

The_ firing squad_ issue was translated into: as a military attaché, highly decorated and well known in his country (he avoided mentioning which country, in case Parker was listening the news) Hardison got into a slight dispute with his colleagues on the Japanese side, who misunderstood the data they were given, and wrongly accused him of actions against their dignified profession. After some clearance from both sides, the issues solved themselves, by themselves, completely naturally, and everything continued in a pleasant and friendly manner.

_The diplomatic dinner_ with the attempted assassination of Emperor Akihito, spiked with poisoned cherries, that ended with their saving their bare lives, fighting and retreating through the huge Palace full of people trying to kill them was explained as: a little, cozy evening meal with the friendly Japanese diplomatic core (Nate flinched at that, remembering that small Foreign Minister, dressed in the traditional kimono, who tried to kill him with her hair pin). The dinner was, again, full of demonstrations of the Japanese culture, including funny going through numerous Japanese paper walls (there, Nate flinched again, remembering Hardison destroying antique art). The cheerful gathering ended with traditional swimming in the lake surrounding the Palace, including the jump from the defense walls. Along with more fireworks, swords, samurai thingies and very traditional screaming.

"And you seriously expect us to learn this crap, and actually repeat it if Parker asks us?" Sophie asked, stopping on the first page. Hardison nudged her to look at other three.

"Okay, the first one for now," he sighed. "It's important we have our stories straight – she will smell any lies."

"Smell lies? Hardison, this stinks, for god's sake, she'll know we're hiding things from her."

"She already knows, and she'll find out everything… but with this crap, we bought ourselves a little time. She'll be amused with this, because it _is_ obviously crap, it was meant to look that way!"

"Oh, okay… that even might work," Sophie admitted after thinking again. "Maybe we should really send her with Eliot," she ended with a sigh.

"I've sent this to him, too, but he left his phone here. Chicken. He'll hear about this fleeing when he returns. By the way, when did he say he'd return?"

"Six days," Nate answered shortly.

"And he left everything that I could use to find him if necessary, for whatever reason?" Hardison tilted his head, looking at him. "That doesn't sound like a 'paranoid to the bone and proud of it' hitter, Nate. Is everything okay?"

"Maybe he predicted this," Nate pointed to the papers. "Can't say I blame him."

Hardison smirked but let it go.

Sophie said nothing; and when Sophie wasn't talking, that meant she was settling all the info in her head. Not a good sign.

Nate just sighed. This was going to be a very interesting week.

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Sunday was free. Sophie and Nate spent it on his boat enjoying a few warm days in a row, hoping a rain won't ruin the plans – though, to be honest, to be stuck in the cabin with Sophie, on the boat under the rain, with fine wine and finally enough time to relax, wasn't completely a disastrous scenario. Especially when he found out she packed the silk kimono she wore in Japan, which he admired.

He wasn't worried. He didn't like Eliot being far away without backup, without help, doing something dangerous…_nope, scratch that_. He wasn't _afraid_, but he was a little worried.

The thing that made him curious was hitter's refusal to tell him where he was going, and what he was doing. Eliot knew he could count on his discretion, and that he wouldn't spread it to the team. Nate's knowing what was going on might have been a crucial thing if something happened. A few hours of delay, if they were trying to find out where he was, might mean the difference between life and death for Eliot.

The crucial thing here was _why_ Eliot wanted to hide his target, getting close to recklessness.

He knew Sophie could feel his worry, as she always did, and he knew even better she needed only one minute to connect the strange vibes from their Friday meeting, Eliot's sudden fishing, and his tension, and he was grateful for her patience.

She only mentioned fishing from his boat twice, letting the bait sway in front of him, but when he didn't respond, she let it go. Telling her everything he knew wouldn't reveal anything that Eliot didn't want to be revealed, and he knew he could do that, particularly because she was aware of the plot, but he decided to stay silent. Sharing a problem with Sophie often meant analyzing it, and he had a feeling that speaking about that fishing trip would just make it more worrying, and give them reasons to get more unnerved with every passing day.

He dearly hoped Eliot wasn't in Boston, dealing with unknown leftovers of the mess they made and left behind.

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Monday was 'meet a potential client' day, and Nate could swear that destiny was starting to play with his little gang of thieves, because the first word the client said was 'diamonds'. He wasn't surprised at all when the rest of the client's story revealed that those particular diamonds were connected to Washington, DC. He waited to see if the conclusion would bring the National Museum of Natural History into play, but it didn't happen, thank god. Yet, the damage was done, the Hall diamond and sapphire necklace was embroidered in his mind when he said to client that they would see what they could do, sparkling in all its priceless beauty, coloring his entire day.

The worst part of that potential job – and he wasn't sure yet if he should play by destiny's rules and accept it, or refuse the bait – was that they would be balancing on the very edge of utter crime against the art world. Yet, on the other side was an orphanage, robbed of its donation by a greedy politician and businessman who kept the diamonds for himself.

The good thing was, nobody mentioned Japan for the entire morning.

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"You gotta be kidding me!" Hardison said only ten minutes after he started the preliminary research of The Potential Washington Job. Nate had told him to take his time; they had only half a thief, and no hitter, and there was no need to rush into the job.

"What?" he lifted his eyes from the papers Hardison already printed – background and easily accessible info on their mark and client.

"It seems we will meet old friends – guess who is doing security for our mark? Castleman Security."

"As long as there's no Dvorak Security on sight, I'm okay with it."

Hardison nodded and returned to his work, but looked at him again after a minute.

"What?" Nate suppressed a sigh.

"It's Tuesday," the hacker said. "You talked with Eliot before he left? Did he mention which of those ten or more fishing destinations he chose?"

"Not that I can remember. Why?"

"Something is strange about that trip… not about his going fishing, but about the complete isolation. Remember who we are talking about? A guy who burned Boston in one night, because we were threatened? A guy who storms into guns because he thinks that fifteen seconds of silence via comms means we are all dead? A guy who will very soon perform the first known case of human mitosis, just to be sure all four of us are covered twenty four hours a day?" Hardison tilted his head, watching him. "Would that guy leave just like that, knowing we can't contact him if we were in danger? Don't think so."

"He knows we aren't doing a job, and I told him we won't until he returns."

"Doesn't matter. Isolation when we are separated is normal, but even then we can reach anyone if needed."

"Maybe he's testing you," Nate grinned. "Find him if you can."

"If he wanted that, he wouldn't ask me to come with him, unless it was just a decoy to divert my attention… he is sleazy bastard sometimes."

"That he is," Nate agreed wholeheartedly, and found himself on the receiving end of one more suspicious look.

"Something just ain't right here," Hardison murmured and got back to his job, without further comments.

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When he thought better of this situation, worry aside, Nate realized that this was a very useful thing to observe their reactions and decisions. He wasn't studying Sophie so much, but Hardison and Parker.

They had nothing; just a hunch and his unclear confirmation about something happening. He really wanted to see where their suspicion would lead them, and what they would do.

He _needed_ to see it.

They'd been in Portland for months now and he was still in turmoil, changing his mind on a daily basis. All things came to an end, that was true, he was aware of that, yet he was reluctant to point his finger and _end them_. Decisions were still running around in his brain, postponed for now. It wasn't time yet. He wasn't sure – about himself, about them.

Maybe he would never be, maybe he would just give up of all his plans and just continue with this, not telling them anything about it – but he was aware that the main cause for his putting it off was an eternal race between fear for them, and trust in them.

And so he observed, watched them all, studied their every move, thought and breath, for months… and waited.

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"I did some research," Hardison announced later that evening, when they gathered at dinner. Nate planned to take Sophie out, but he decided it was better to keep an eye on the two younger members of the team, especially after he saw that Hardison was more occupied with US water flows than diamonds and orphanages. "It happens that all of his chosen destinations are Class III or higher. Speaking of risk."

"You really expected Eliot to paddle on a calm lake, with no danger and adrenaline?" Parker asked, chewing spaghetti.

"Nah, of course not… but he asked me to come with him, remember?" Hardison pulled out a piece of paper. "Listen to this: Class III - moderately difficult. Numerous high and irregular waves; rocks and eddies with passages clear but narrow and requiring experience to run. These rapids are best left to canoeists with expert skills. Class IV - Long and powerful rapids and standing waves; souse holes and boiling eddies. Cannot be run in canoes unless the craft is decked or properly equipped with flotation bags. Advance preparations for possible rescue work are important. Class V- Extremely difficult. Long and violent rapids that follow each other almost without interruption. River filled with obstructions. Rescue preparations mandatory. Can be run only by top experts in specially equipped whitewater canoes, decked craft, and kayaks. Class VI.- Extraordinarily difficult. Paddlers face constant threat of death because of extreme danger. Navigable only when water levels and conditions are favorable. This violent whitewater should be left to paddlers of Olympic ability. Every safety precaution must be taken." Hardison lowered the paper. "He would never take an amateur to these waters. And where is fishing in this deadly crap? Does anybody know where the hell our hitter is?"

Of course they all turned to him.

Nate smiled. "More cheese?"

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It was really pure luck that Nate was alone in the office when Bonnano called him. Sophie was at meeting with her class, and Parker and Hardison were solving 'something' with a delivery truck that delivered 'something' that would make Eliot, as Hardison explained, 'run after the van trying to bite the tires'. Nate let them argue with 'someone over something', and retreated into the back rooms to enjoy the silence.

When he saw the caller ID, his blood ran cold immediately – Bonnano stayed in touch with them after they left Boston, but he wasn't the one who would call just to chat. And Bonnano was, also, deeply involved in all the shit that happened in Boston with the gangs and cartels. This call immediately woke up his fears that Eliot went to Boston to deal with some loose ends of that mess, and that was the main reason they weren't involved.

"Yes, Patrick, what's up? I presume you're not calling just to hear how the weather in Portland is."

"Well, no, you're right." Patrick sounded normal, maybe slightly tired, but that was usual for him. "In fact, I need to speak with Eliot, not you, but I can't get him on his phone. Is he somewhere near?"

Those words loosened a painful knot in his stomach a little; the hitter clearly wasn't doing anything in Boston. At least, not under Bonnano's nose.

"No, he is not here, he took six days off, a few days ago, gone fishing. Is it some sort of emergency?"

Bonnano vented one long sigh. "Yes and no." For a moment he sounded even more tired. "We have a situation here… it's Betsy's son, you know. Her older one is in Afghanistan, his patrol was ambushed a few days ago, almost all killed, he and few of them were captured and taken somewhere. I thought Eliot might have friends from service whom he can ask for information. Any details. Nobody seems to know anything."

Fuck. Betsy Roberts, Eliot's nurse who saved his life few months ago wasn't just Eliot's friend, they all deeply connected with her. Nate, squinting, tried to imagine for a second Eliot's reaction when he heard the news.

Then he thought better. And suppressed a curse.

"What?" As a police officer, Bonnano momentarily noticed change in his breathing.

Nate cleared his throat. "When did you say that happened?"

"A few days ago. Why-" Bonnano's voice trailed off. He paused a moment, then went on. "When did you say he went fishing…?"

"A few days ago…"

"Fuck."

Silence stretched between them, full of quick thinking.

"I knew he went to do something, some sort of job," Nate said slowly. "He also said he doesn't want anybody to know, so don't tell Betsy."

"Nope. No chance, I won't raise her hopes without any clear confirmation. Jesus, he'll be in trouble if she finds out. I always knew he's crazy, but this is… this is… too much even for him."

"Too much? No, I would say it was expected… remember what he did to Boston in just one night?"

"Remember?! I'm trying to forget. Why?"

"He has six days in Afghanistan. On a war path."

"Dear Lord. Poor Afghanistan."

"Precisely."

"Call me if you hear anything, alright?"

"Of course, you too."

Nate hung up, and slowly put the phone on the table, contemplating about banging his head on it. Then he sighed, hoisted himself on his feet, and went to turn on CNN.

It was fucking Wednesday.

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Eliot knew he had only a few days before Hardison sent his web crawlers after him, but unless the hacker improved his tracking devices and implemented something under his skin without him noticing, he knew he could leave the country unnoticed. He left all his IDs and passports except one. An old, dusty piece of paper with a long forgotten name on it.

Jack still worked in a military base Hardison knew nothing about. Randy was still the best damn military pilot. It wasn't easy to calculate how many times he had to change cargo planes, including one aircraft carrier. He was just one more package that Randy handed to his friend – no questions asked. That friend, Gary, handed the package to his friend, who delivered him to the last one, to finally arrive in the hands of Craig, two days and thousands of miles later, who knew both Randy and him.

Craig was the one who looked at his papers, shook his head, and said the hair had to go if he wanted to set his foot on Afghanistan soil in his uniform, murmuring something about damn hippies and his degradation.

Negotiating left him with hair only a hand span long and a technician uniform.

Craig showed an unhealthy amount of joy while working with the scissors.

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For the next two days, Afghanistan was holding on. Nothing unusual in the reports from the field, no strange activities. No Taliban were killing each other amuck, and cities were, more or less, still standing.

Nate didn't know if he liked that silence or not.

Silence in the office was ominous.

Parker showed an expected grimace when Hardison introduced her to his paper variant of The Japan Job, but the hacker's plan was working, because now she was expecting more of that nonsense.

Nate spent the entire morning reading about the Kandahar province and military activities there, too near the border of Pakistan, unable to decide if he should just continue to worry, or start being afraid. He was annoyed for sure, especially when he calculated how long it would take for them to get to Afghanistan if needed. He did, however, understand why Eliot decided to leave them here, apart from that stupid decision that nobody should know he was going for Betsy's son – the Leverage Team would be very hard to fit into rural Afghanistan deserts.

Just in case, he set a few routes, including charters, that could take them there in two days. If they bought, stole or borrowed a plane, they could get there in a day and half, as close to Maiwand as they could.

Maiwand, the center of the problem, in the middle of nothing, surrounded by Taliban, mountains and deserts.

"No, Parker, that fire wasn't amusing at all," Sophie's gentle voice stirred his thinking; the grifter was answering Parker's question about the fire incident in the Imperial Residence, and he smiled remembering how the flames drew patterns on her silk kimono. Of course they could have just destroyed the key codes for the nuclear assault plan, but that sort of power needed an appropriate end. Somehow, flushing it down the toilet looked anticlimactic, it had to go more dramatically.

It wasn't their fault that all the materials were so damn flammable.

He froze his smile when he met Hardison's gaze over the laptop.

"You know, since we came to Portland you've been acting strange, but you brought that to entire new level for the past few days," Hardison said slowly, silencing Sophie and Parker. "Why don't you simply tell us where is he?"

"I thought you were researching Castleman security," he said. "It would be extremely useful if we could just retrieve the stolen diamonds from them, and not have to steal the Hall sapphire and diamond necklace… and destroy it."

"Funny you mentioned 'retrieving'," Hardison said softly. "In case you didn't notice, we are one retrieval specialist short."

Nate glanced at Parker, half surprised she didn't take over and start talking about diamonds, but the thief looked at him, expecting answers like the rest of them. Yep, worried. Maybe they would worry less if he just told them that Eliot went to do something – keeping them in the dark was worse than that.

"He is fishing," he said with a derisive smile.

Hardison showed his teeth.

"Heavy rain on six of ten sites he stated as his destination. Flood conditions on two."

"Stormy fishing? He would like that more than a quiet one, don't you think?"

"His ID and passports are all here. If he left the country, he did it under the radar. If he did it under the radar, he went with his Black Ops connections," Hardison continued. "He is not in Boston. He is also nowhere near any of his destinations. I pulled his picture through every single surveillance camera in the US – five laptops are searching for him twenty-four hours a day. He disappeared."

"There's no cameras in the middle of the river, Hardison."

"Okay, stop it," Sophie jumped in before Hardison could react. "We know that you know. Just tell us, how worried we should be? He has one more day of _fishing_. Should we wait and then start to worry, or we should worry already?"

That was a fair question, and he hesitated.

"He said he would let me know if his fishing goes south. There's nothing we can do before he calls, so relax."

"I don't like it," Hardison murmured.

"There is one positive thing in all this," Parker said thoughtfully. "If we have to destroy the Hall necklace to get diamonds, we can keep the sapphires. All thirty six of them, the most beautiful sapphires in the world."

They all stared at her gleaming eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing, Parker," Nate sighed.

Hardison quickly returned to his laptop, trying to find a way to break into the Castleman vault.

At least she didn't ask about the fire drill in the Residence.

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It took him two more days to travel to the Kandahar province, avoiding all the main routes that were heavily guarded by patrols from Sarkari Karez, the Forward Operating Base, taking the small, unknown roads. The problem with those roads was that they were heavily guarded by Taliban forces that played cat and mouse with Americans from the base, and he was in danger from both parties.

The truck he was driving was thirty years old but it handled the sand and dust much better than all new models he'd seen. That was the old rule of all overseas operations – always use that things that natives are using, never, ever, new and imported. Craig had told him about that black market, and he also gave him a list with names of people that were trusted and useful.

Zalmai was the only one he could reach in one day, and he picked up the young, bright eyed Afghan from his village. He needed a translator, and someone who would collect information from the villagers, and Craig swore Zalmai was experienced and more than able to find any useful clue. Eliot's Dari was bad, but he could understand enough to see that Zalmai could be trusted.

It happened that they didn't need to draw anything from local villagers, the entire province was simmering with rumors of captured Americans held in Taliban camps up in the mountains.

They spent one entire day talking with people, going from one small village to another. He wore a turban and loose, layered clothes like everyone around him, keeping himself in the back while Zalmai talked with people, yet he knew they weren't deceived. He could hide his face with a hanging piece of turban cloth, but his eyes and posture couldn't be hidden. If he really wanted, he could make himself completely invisible, but this was useful in a different way. He took in everything: their glances, their change in behavior, their hesitation and change in answers when they saw an American masked as one of them.

He sent Zalmai alone in every other village, to see what they were saying when relaxed and not alerted, and he combined the two different sets of data into one, slowly building his knowledge about the particular tribe that captured the Americans. What they wanted, how they fought, what they needed. For real intel he would need weeks and weeks of this, going slowly in smaller circles, coming closer and closer, but he didn't have time for that. He was not worried about the time frame he told Nate – at this rate he would be days late already – he was afraid that every day that passed meant a death sentence for the captives.

He couldn't be sure if they were alive at all, no one could give them clear confirmation of that, yet nobody didn't hide that they were being held in camps up in the mountains.

That part, up in the mountains, was worrying.

The fact that the entire base, only a few hours away from that place, could do nothing – and they probably knew the same rumors – was terrifying. That showed him exactly how deadly entering into that mountain was. They couldn't risk losing dozens of lives to save six.

For the hundredth time since he set foot on the plane, Eliot thought about the utter stupidity of his actions; every now and then, he would surprise himself by thinking about what he was really doing here – but he simply shook that off before he gave himself an answer.

He spent five days getting to this point, to find out where they were being kept, and he found himself staring at the huge mountain, full of hidden armies, the mountain that an entire base with a thousand of the best soldiers in the world couldn't attack.

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't attack the damn guarded camp – the one he yet had to find in that stony labyrinth - and take six people with him. He couldn't…

He sighed and turned his back to the mountains.

They were parked on the first slopes, about a hundred meters above the desert.

Orange wasteland spread out before him when he looked at the desert. Many miles from here, at the end of it, was the American base.

He turned again to look at the stones, cliffs and canyons hovering over him, spreading over the same amount of miles, hiding his prey.

_Adapt, Spencer. Stop turning around, and think_.

He sighed again, silencing the nagging voice in his head, and waved to Zalmai to start the engine. They had no business here.

"Into the desert, we are leaving the mountain," he told him when the kid asked for direction.

"They are in the middle of massive, not in the des-"

"I know. But we–I–can't attack their camp."

"So what are you going to do? Leave?"

He looked into the distance, over the tilting orange sand. "No," he said. "I'm going to attack the American base."

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"It's Friday," Hardison announced when he gathered them in the office, and Nate held back all the witty comments about that proclamation. Parker looked stern and dark, and even Sophie seemed to take their side, sitting at the briefing table with her arms crossed.

"Somebody remember to water George?" he asked lightly. Parker flinched, but restrained the involuntary move.

He would really enjoy their tries to find out what was happening, if only he wasn't worried. For the last two days he was expecting Eliot to call him, or send some kind of message, and he went through all the information he could find, to prepare for the eventual trip.

Nothing was happening in Afghanistan, and with every day that passed, that nothingness was more and more ominous. People disappeared so easily. Deserts swallowed them and never gave them back, giving no clue about their destiny.

"Knock it off, Nate," Hardison said. "I found out where he is."

That was surprising. He was pretty sure the hacker wouldn't be able to trace Eliot; surprising and disturbing at the same time. If he heard something, if his webs tilted somewhere, that could mean trouble, or bad news. He studied Hardison's face for a few seconds, searching for the bad news, finding only narrowed eyes and a dark smile.

"You sound like you thought he was in Australia, and you found him in some fisherman motel with a woman," he said, sitting at the table.

Instead of answering, Hardison pulled up a world map, with many green lines, all going in one direction – directly into Afghanistan. He squinted a little – yep, directly to Maiwand.

"Not bad. Something happened there and you heard about it, or you found him using your orc connections all over the world?"

"Neither. I remembered what we did when we chased him all over Boston, not knowing where he was. We used, at the end, all the information that _he_ knew, not what we knew about his whereabouts, remember?"

"And how you found out _now_ what he knows? You had no starting point."

"Ah, I didn't search him," Hardison darted him one dark smile. "I searched the other guy who knew everything that we needed to know. You, to be precise."

_Well, finally_. He left the trail of crumbs a mile wide, marked with pointing arrows.

Hardison looked at him just once, then suppressed a curse. "You didn't! You did? But if you knew I would go after you, why didn't you simply tell me where he was in the first place?"

"This was more interesting." And it had kept them occupied, diverted their attention from the Japan Job, filled their time of waiting, and kept them away from sinking too deeply into the diamond business, at the same time showing him their behavior. "Where did you start? Checking my computer and my searches?"

"Nope, your phone first. I knew you knew where he was, and it was possible that you were in contact. I cloned your phone and went through all messages and call records. With no results. You should really improve your social life, Nate, the last two weeks not even Maggie called you – just sayin'. But guess who _did_ call you? Bonnano," Hardison grinned. "I was scared as shit when I found out, thinking about the Boston crap; I really, really didn't want one more night through explosions, machine guns and killers all around us while we chased him… but when I called Bonnano to see what happened, pretending you told me to check if there was anything new, he told me about Mathew Roberts. The rest was easy."

"And why couldn't that idiot tell us where and why he was going?" Sophie said, just barely able to keep her annoyance under control. "We'll have a serious talk when he gets back."

Nate shrugged. "You'll have to ask him about it, but it's Betsy… his reactions when she is in question are not quite… explainable. Remember, she is the one who managed to make him create a damn Facebook account, just because she didn't like phones and wanted to stay in touch, while Hardison spent five years in vain forcing him to make a simple email. And she just asked, nothing more."

"Hey, focus!" Hardison pulled up a military file with a picture of a young black man. "If he had told me what was going on, I could've helped him. Knowing what and where to search, I found everything connected to that ambush. I hacked all the military's records on that, I broke into a few interesting conversations among big heads, all stating there's nothing they could do except to negotiate, when they found out their terms and conditions… more or less, they gave up. They are waiting to see if the Taliban will ask for a prisoner exchange – we have some of their people – but even if they do it, there's no negotiating and exchanging. They are simply waiting for that offer to refuse it, and with that make the case closed."

Hardison changed the picture on the screens, listing maps. "Here's all the data about the Kandahar province, Maiwand, Taliban tribes, history and politics, current situation, important names, even the fucking weather." With one quick move of his hand, he erased everything, leaving the screens black. "And there's no use for it," he finished. "There's no way I can send it to him. He could've had it all before he even left Portland. And even if I send it to him now, it's fucking Friday, Nate, he should be back today."

Nate listened to the bitterness in his voice, the barely concealed anger. Fear was boiling very close to surface by now.

"He isn't the suicide type, Hardison. He said he would let me know, somehow, if it goes south and he would. No news, in this case, is good news."

"Yeah, I know," Hardison rubbed his eyes, tiredly, and Nate knew that all that info didn't magically jump into his computer; the hacker spent the entire night gathering it. And he wouldn't miss the most important thing.

"You saw my transportation plans?" he asked him.

"Yep. Amateurish, but not bad. I have a plane waiting for us, and another one ready in Casablanca, with a complete crew on standby. We are lucky, Kandahar has airport and we would be very near. I shortened your travel plan by two thirds."

"And what now?" Parker asked when silence spread.

"We wait," he said. "Wait for him to come, or wait for him to call."

He glanced over three closed, grim faces, knowing he couldn't have said anything worse.

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It seemed that that Friday passed in a matter of seconds – hours were flying almost visibly.

No news, no calls, no messages.

Saturday morning met them all in the office, almost with the first sunbeams, but nobody mentioned Afghanistan.

Nobody, however, went home for the entire day, they were taking care of the brewery, old files, and dusting. The office rooms were bright, clean, smelling like strawberries, and Sophie even washed the surrounding glass walls.

Nate stopped her when she went searching for a pole long enough to pick up spider webs from the almost invisible corners. She gave up after a short argument, and went shopping, which was a welcomed release of tension – until he figured out that all clothes she bought were khaki, brown and layered. She also returned in less than an hour, which was her usual amount time to _prepare_ to go shopping.

Parker hadn't said a single word for six hours and Hardison was letting her be – Nate was pretty impressed with his handling of the situation. There wasn't any better approach to disturbed Parker then letting her sort everything she needed to sort out in her head.

Friday flew by very fast, but Saturday seemed to linger endlessly. The first day of Eliot's delay Nate spent questioning all his decisions, plans and preparations for future, while pretending he was going through all the documents connected to diamonds and orphanages.

He was, at the same time, keeping an eye on Parker and her unreadable face, so calm, so content and controlled. And so damn pale.

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Bat shit crazy, _that_ was what he was, Eliot decided after a thorough search for an appropriate description of his doings.

Dressed in his technician uniform again, he walked through the base looking busy, bumping into people while walking and staring at the papers in his hands – an old trick to look as if he belonged in his surroundings. He knew the architecture and organization of the base very well, they all functioned on the same principle, but he searched every corner nevertheless.

He had the afternoon and evening for preparations, and the wait for nightfall would be long and tense, yet what he prepared couldn't be done now. He _had_ to wait for darkness.

He had sent Zalmai, after he said he could freely go and make contact with the Taliban, to say 'hi', and let them know there was one crazy American guy on the loose in their mountains… and that he was coming to them tomorrow.

With an offer they couldn't refuse.

He doubted they would recognize the reference, but who knew? He smiled, bumping into a Captain, jumping away in panic and saluting, making yet another circle around the Management building.

He spent exactly seven hours talking with people all around the base – he knew enough to blend in, not raising any suspicion – worriedly asking about tonight's attack that was announced, asking everybody if they knew any details, and what to do. The rumor had spread, slowly at the beginning, but after a few hours it was unstoppable, going from man to man faster than a prairie fire.

Yet, that was just the preparation, the real work wasn't with soldiers and technicians. Every military in the world had exactly one weak spot – white collars and clerks in the middle of the chain of command – clueless, slow, often ignorant and very, very self confident.

No real soldier would ever buy his play tonight, but this night he had two potential targets who knew nothing about war, strategies, or tactics; they knew only to read their orders. Preferably received in three copies, signed and sealed.

He found one hidden spot in a huge warehouse, after he searched it and found the detonators he needed, gathered three bags full of clothes, and closed his eyes. Three hours of rest.

He needed sleep desperately.

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That Saturday was a working day for Leverage Consulting & Associates, and Hardison did everything humanly possible to fill it with all the info he could find, combining Washington, Japan and Afghanistan into one long, long stream to divert everybody's attention.

Nate was almost entertained by the hacker's attempts, admitting it really worked. Parker looked thrilled with Hardison's description of the horticultural exhibition, particularly with the part in which Nate, to his surprise, seemed to climb an ancient tree that was planted in the middle of the building, reaching through the foyer up to four stories tall.

The tree was really there, but they only talked about how Parker would've been unstoppable if she was with them, and how no living man could restrain her from climbing. He certainly didn't climb the fucking tree. Yet, he could only smile at Parker's nod of approval, and keep his mouth shut.

Hardison completely skipped the part of the exhibition where Eliot fought men with swords, who tried to take from him the medal that Emperor Akihito gave Sophie, the medal with the key codes that all of them were after; Nate would probably never forget the streams of blood going into the little, beautiful pools and the shocked expressions of the fish swimming in them.

At the same time, he was occupied with the fucking monkey that ran away from his box; he had to put him under his jacket to keep him still. They were lucky he was still half drugged and quiet, though that didn't stop him from squirming under the jacket. Those fifteen minutes of the talk with Generals Hashimoto and Jackson, trying to figure out how to stop World War Three, while the monkey went up and down his chest, was not a memory he was particularly fond of. Things were even worse than that, because Sophie was singing in the background – Eliot swore that she ruined his concentration so much that she almost got him killed – and Hardison was stuck in a giant box of dandelions that was ready to be poured from the top of the four story-tall tree onto the heads of the honorable guests.

On second thought, maybe Eliot went to Afghanistan to rest, Nate decided when everything that happened started to dance in front of his eyes as if he was still there.

Hardison brought up the blueprints of the Castleman vault and for almost one hour, Afghanistan was put aside for real.

Or, it would have been put aside, if one screen wasn't set on CNN, with the volume lowered, but audible.

His decisions were troubling him, and he was only partially listening to the usual briefing and data that Hardison poured out. Sophie's soft, gentle words that she had said right before they burned… everything that could've been burned, were still echoing in his mind.

_Baby birds, learning how to fly._

Jesus, he knew it was the right call, but it was so fucking hard to decide when. When he would stop fearing for all of them? Probably never. But if he took only his fear for them as the key for what to do, he would simply lock them in some safe place and keep them all out of trouble for the rest of their lives. No, fear wasn't a good guide.

He had to let his trust in them take over, and help him decide. And he needed more information. It seemed as if the past five years wasn't enough to know everything about them, as if he needed much more.

He knew their minds, their hearts, and their souls.

He sighed. One more thing. They had to do something alone, just the three of them. After that, he would know.

He raised one hand to stop Hardison in the middle of explaining. "I decided that the three of you should go alone and deal with the diamond part of it in Washington," he said calmly, not showing how much those words cost him. "Sophie and I will stay here and tie up all the local loose ends and work on politician part of it."

A few moments of silence spread while everyone was thinking that there weren't _three_ of them here, but no one said it out loud.

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Hardison said lightly. "I'll start right away and see what I can do from here, to prepare everything. Parker will work on the safe, I have the specifications." He stopped, messing with the papers in front of him, before he had to say something about who would deal with the guards and security. "I already know what kind of motion sensors they use, and I know where the diamonds are kept – box 1032. Not sure about lasers, though…"

"No need to hurry, Hardison, take your time."

"Right." He continued with the papers, not raising his head.

Silence, again, spread in the office. This day was full of silences.

Nate sighed.

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Eliot started his attack when the evening was completely dark, but still early enough for everybody to be wide awake and relaxing after dinner.

Maybe it was the desert, or the entire tribe situation that surrounded him, but he felt like he was caught up in a C production Western movie, he though while he sneaked around, keeping himself close to the ground. His cute little explosive devices were spread all over the base, mainly in warehouses and auxiliary buildings, far away from people or anything important.

He didn't come to destroy their base. He needed just one thing from them. And he knew which giant metal hangar had it.

He was near the Management building when alarms started to wail, when smoke spread and people started to run to and fro.

He waited until the mess and panic were complete, knowing that everybody would think of the announced attack and be ready to move into combat, then went in.

Jason B. Sierra worked the night shift in the Control room, as Mary from Supplies told him that afternoon, not hiding her despise for the newcomer who still thought that sun lotion was the most important thing in a desert war.

He burst into the Control room, switching into Commander mode without any trouble, finding the young man turning buttons on and off, in panic.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" he yelled. "Where are the orders?! Are you sabotaging the base, Sierra?!"

The soldier choked. "What?! What orders, Sir, whose? Not sabotaging – the alarms are on, we're being attacked, we-"

"Damn right we're being attacked!" he growled. "We have an Orange Alert, you idiot, why didn't you listen to your orders? Colonel Sword ordered all troops to battle positions – why the hell you didn't announce the Orange Alert?!"

His trembling hands went all the over the papers on his desk. "I don't have it – nobody sent anything – I don't know-" The howling of the alarms, red flashes and yelling from outside choked him again, he stumbled in his chair.

Eliot stepped closer, leaning into his face. "Listen to me, son," he said quietly. "First thing – Orange Alert. Do it, now."

Sierra swallowed and reached for the switch – the wailing changed.

"Good," Eliot kept his eyes locked on his, lowering his voice even more. "Send the troops out. Total coverage of the perimeter, securing the surroundings. _Now_."

"Y-yes, Sir," Sierra reached for the microphone, sending all the orders to the external speakers.

Eliot absentmindedly wondered if their slight lack of brilliance would ruin his show.

He tapped Sierra on the shoulder when the panic from outside transformed into shouted orders and organized chaos, when the entire base moved as one man, and went out. He had to catch his prey when it left the huge metal hangar at the very end of the base.

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Sunday morning started with Nate walking barefoot across the office.

When he came in, he didn't notice water on the floor and he sat at the table, keeping his feet in the puddle, until he noticed something strange and discovered that his shoes and socks were soaking wet.

He traced the water to George – the plant looked at him with an aghast stare, begging him to save him – the poor laurel was literally drowning. Even the plate under the vase was completely full and water was leaking from it onto the floor.

He calculated that Parker must have climbed down several times during the night, in the darkness, watering him just in case, not paying attention to how much water he actually could take in.

He sighed, mopped up the floor, poured all the water out, and reassured George that Eliot would soon be home and take proper care of him.

He mentioned nothing when the others came. George was silent, too.

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The meeting point, arranged by Zalmai, was somewhere north of the place he stopped for the first time and looked at the mountain, at early dawn. A big opening among the endless canyons was, too, so much like Texas that he glanced around searching for smoke signals.

Ten Taliban turned to the tank – Jesus, it sounded like a children's song – admiring the huge metal beast that waited for them to take it. Eliot knew that dozens of them were hidden on the cliffs above them, and he kept his hands in plain sight. This was a business transaction, nothing more. His offer - an M1A1 US tank, which surprisingly got lost during the previous night's turmoil, when all the troops left the base, was parked facing their old truck with six captives kneeling beside it.

The Taliban knew they wouldn't get anything if they tried to negotiate with the American base, the policy about negotiating with terrorists was known worldwide. Their captives were useless, except for making a point.

He was counting on that when he sent them his offer.

They couldn't be saved. But they could be bought.

Eliot stared at the black man. In seven days he located him, traveled half of the globe, found a way to take him home, and finally saw him for the first time. He was handcuffed along with five other men, kneeling in front of their truck, and their uniforms were torn and dusty. Desert weather and cruel captivity left marks on their faces, too. He knew his name was Mathew, but he couldn't guess his age. He looked a little older than him.

"Six, those, yes?" The voice behind him spoke in bad English – Zalmai was intentionally diminishing his English skills during the negotiation, making himself a dull translator who had no idea what was going on and why. So far, he was extremely lucky that the young Afghan was on his side.

He nodded to him. "Put them in our truck." He waited until one of the men that were staying beside Zalmai nodded back, approving the transaction. Ten armed Taliban surrounded him, watching his every move, waiting for a betrayal or a trap. They would be disappointed, he smiled, watching the captives coming closer; he had no intention to double cross anyone this time. _More than he already did._

Eliot waved his hand to the tank. "It's yours," he said, waiting for Zalmai to translate. "When we leave, you take it."

Ten different voices started to talk at the same time, and while he listened to Zalmai's tries to tell him what they were saying, he watched the prisoners.

Mathew stopped as he was passing by him. When he came out of the opening Eliot wore the exact turban as the others, his face was covered by a hanging piece of turban cloth, but one of the Taliban asked him to show his face and remove it. He could only hope that Mathew had no drawing skills, in case Betsy asked what the man who came for them looked like. The short hair would save him, though, even if that happened.

Mathew stopped and looked directly into his eyes. He said nothing, just nodded. Then he raised his eyebrows.

It was strange, Eliot thought later. Flashbacks normally went in the opposite direction – in safe surroundings, images of past danger came to haunt those who survived. It was extremely rare to have flashbacks of Boston, right in the middle of a deadly prisoner exchange in Afghanistan. Yet, he was there for a moment, in Boston, in a well lit white room, looking at the same raised eyebrows and tender black eyes on a dark face. Flashbacks were supposed to bring horror and fear, but he felt… safe.

"Continue to the truck, slowly," Eliot breathed, breaking the eye contact, at the last moment remembering to put a little Australian accent in his words. "And pray."

Matthew didn't nod again, just narrowed his eyes, nudging the others to continue their steps.

"Zalmai, we're done here. Go," Eliot said when all six of them were safely inside, and waited for the Taliban to approve. Their attention was on the tank, they just waved them to go, and he didn't hesitate.

He had to be many miles away from here when all those little detonators he planted in it burned the sensitive electronics and made the tank completely useless. He bought six lives, but he didn't want to pay for them with other deaths.

He would leave the men near the base and leave; the six days he said he would spend fishing had ended already, and he would barely have enough time to fly home to be in Portland on the ninth day. This went surprisingly well, even the stealing of the tank – it was a shame he could never tell Parker about it – and the probable suspicion from the team wouldn't be a problem. Yet, he could only hope, with all of his heart, that Matthew wouldn't ever, _ever_, mention to his mother the blue-eyed guy who came for them and retrieved them. Bought them, to be precise.

_That_ would be a disaster worthy of a brutal flashback.

He needed a phone.

.

.

.

Sunday lunch in the office, a pretty unusual thing, wasn't exactly a cheerful meeting, though everybody did their best to keep the conversation normal. Silence was something that was destroyed at first sight, Nate noticed after awhile – Sophie was a master of covering it with chatter, occupying them all.

She managed to talk about the streets of Istanbul without break, for one hour, and they didn't even notice they were listening almost breathlessly.

He leaned back in the chair, listening to her, watching them all, doing nothing.

The only thing he did, twice, was pull Parker back when she stood up and went to George.

When they finished the meal and Nate brought one more bottle of wine from the brewery, Sophie switched to Scottish castles and the numerous problems the high class had with heating in cold winters.

The clear sound of an incoming message interrupted Sophie's picturing the thick stone walls.

It could be anyone, Nate thought for a moment. It could be a message from Afghanistan, but not from Eliot, a dreaded one. It could be Bonnano, it could… he stopped, took the phone and checked.

Unknown number.

He pressed message, whipped by three steady stares.

"_On a __plane - ETA Monday morning_," he read a message out loud.

Hardison grinned. "Maybe you should check on Afghanistan," he said.

"Maybe I should," he answered lightly.

But he stayed at the table, as all of them did, and nobody said a word while they nursed their wine.

_This_ silence nobody needed to break.

.

.

.

.

"Eliot just sent me a message, he'll be here soon." Nate greeted Hardison who was climbing down the stairs, still half sleeping.

"Good morning to you, too," the hacker yawned and pressed a few buttons on his laptops that were working on the desk under the Harlan's picture. "What are you doing here so early?"

Nate looked at him over the newspaper. "Waiting for Sophie."

"Call me immediately when he arrives, I have important news." With that Hardison returned upstairs.

The fisherman arrived half an hour later; tired, dirty, and with shade darker face… and with _cut_ hair.

Nate stared at Eliot, but his frowning wasn't inviting comments, so he just nodded.

"Successful fishing?" he asked laconically.

"Yep, you could say that." He threw a bag in the corner, and sat at the table, taking his coffee without asking. "Everything alright here?"

Nate watched the man who had just returned from the other side of the world, who did a pretty much impossible thing, and who obviously had no intentions to let anyone know what he had done.

"Matthew is alright?" he asked.

Eliot stopped the cup half way to his mouth. "I won't even bother to ask you how anymore," he shook his head. "Yes, they are back in their unit. Alive and unspoiled, except for a few bruises – most of them result of my driving."

"I had inside help."

"I hope it wasn't Betsy." Eliot winced. "Don't tell anyone, or it will come to her, somehow. I'll tell them I did a job if they press, but not _what_ I did."

"Why not?" He took his cup back.

"Because she made me promise, back in Boston, that I wouldn't, under _any _circumstances, try to repay what she had done. So I promised. She took it very seriously, and I would be in serious trouble if she ever-" his phone rang, stopping his words, and he checked the number. Nate could swear that in just one second, his tanned face paled to a pre-Afghanistan shade.

"It's Betsy, damn, she must have some sensor, remind me not to speak her name in vain again…" he whispered. "This is not good… we haven't heard from her in months, she has no reason to call me now except… you definitely didn't speak to her, right? Nobody knows anything? I'll have to lie to her, and that's mission impossible, she always- Nate, she _can't_ know I went there! I don't want her to know what I did!"

"Eliot."

"What?!"

"Answer the phone."

He stared at the thing for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and pressed the button.

"Yes?" Nate had to admit, he managed to sound lazy, casual, and slightly gentle, the usual combination in his voice when he talked to her, yet the grimace on his face was showing the effort he put into it.

"Nah, nothing at all…we were in Japan lately, so we are now having a few lazy days off, relaxing. What's up? Knowing how much you hate phones…" He listened to the other side, nervously tapping his left hand on the table.

"My crops? Withered?" he laughed quietly, but to Nate it sounded more like a choked breath than a relaxed laugh. "You know, Betsy, Farmville crops are not the real ones, they don't actually _die_ when they wither, so I don't see what the big deal is… I'll just plant other ones, alright? What number of days? Nope, I don't remember exactly… ah, nine days? What can I say, I forgot about it. Why you were checking my crops?"

He visibly squinted while listening the other side, and Nate knew she had just started the attack, after preparing the ground first. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that… is he okay? I had no idea. You should have told me… what mushroom? You've lost me there…" Eliot bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; Nate elbowed the table and took a sip of his coffee, enjoying this immensely. "Ah, _that_ kind of mushroom…well, I do _not_ keep you in the dark, and do _not_ feed you shit, for god's sake, I have no idea what are you talking about – no I didn't – no, certainly not – wait, breathe, there's absolutely no need to yell, I'm trying to tell you I was here, I didn't – what?"

He didn't move, his head was still bowed, but he moved the phone away from his ear a little. Nate could hear bursts of a very pissed off female voice, though he couldn't recognize any word.

"What?! Betsy, I'm completely positive that Afghanistan is full of semi-long haired, blue-eyed Southerners, be reasonable, there's thousands of our soldiers there, and if we just look at the percentage of Southern States in the core, we can assume… No, no way, I'm not sending you my picture! It's dangerous, you don't understand – no, not for me, dammit, having my picture might be dangerous for – no, I'm not full of bullshit, I'm calmly and very _reasonably_ explaining you why would having a picture of a wanted criminal might get you into trouble, no, I did not cut my hair, I have no reasons for- Besides, even if my hair was, for whatever reason, cut, it still doesn't confirm these silly suspic - WHAT?! No, you can't come here-" At this point he really choked and stopped talking, bumping his forehead on the table.

Damn, that woman, the only one in the world, had the power to make his unbreakable and invincible hitter an amorphous mess; Nate always respected her immensely, but now he was starting to adore her.

"Alright…" Eliot's voice became raspy, low gruff. "I said, alright! Stop it… Yes, I was there, okay? So what? It was pure coincidence, I swear, things just happened… totally not my fault. I accidentally stumbled upon that thing, I happened to be near, and I did what I could do, which, again, happened to be enough. Nothing special, I really don't see why you are making such a big deal out of it- no, ma'am, I won't. Yes, of course. Yes, I will. No, I won't. No, I would never... ah, okay, in that case, okay. Never. Will you stop being upset for no reas- I will. I will. I won't. Yes, the first thing in the morning, I promise. Good day to you too."

Nate tented his fingers and waited. Eliot stretched his arm and put the phone on the far end of the table, as far as he could reach, still keeping his head on the table. Then he stayed like that for a minute more.

When Eliot spoke again, it was a low murmur, dulled with the table. "Hardison was right, dammit. He warned me about that Facebook shit back in Boston, and I didn't listen. He said she made me make that account just to have a nanny camera…The next time I go to Afghanistan, you'll have to take care of my farm… and update my status on Facebook. Okay?"

That really didn't need an answer, so Nate said nothing.

After a minute Eliot stretched his arm again, reached the phone and poked it with one finger, sending it crashing to the floor from the table.

Nate bit his lip and put a hand over his mouth, assuming a thoughtful pose that would hide his barely suppressed laugh.

"Stop staring at me," the hitter growled.

Nate cleared his throat and thought briefly. "Did you just try to sell Betsy that you were _accidentally_ in Afghanistan, _accidentally_ in a ten miles radius from her captured son, in a country the size of Texas, on the other side of the world, and accidentally at the right time, Eliot?" he asked quietly. No response came, so he continued. "Does your brain has some switch, or something, that turns your higher brain functions on and off, when Betsy is in question, or do you have a more complicated control panel? Like, one turn clockwise for babbling idiot, two turns clockwise for whining moron, three turns for squeaky little-"

"I'd like to see _you_ speaking with her today," Eliot lifted his head; he didn't look angry, just immensely pissed off. He also had a point. Betsy was really hard to handle, especially when she was on a killing spree, and Nate suppressed a wince. "Well, she would find out eventually, so it's better I got rid of that immediately," Eliot sighed.

Nate stirred his coffee, studying him. "You know... at one point in life, karma gives you someone you need. It often happens right at the moment you become too strong, too confident, invincible and on the top of the food chain. Until now, the only worthy opponent you fought was Eliot Spencer… but you beat that motherfucker into pieces a few months ago."

"The point?"

"Everyone needs an arch-nemesis, Eliot. You didn't fight obstacles in Afghanistan, you didn't hide your tracks from us… you fought her, trying to hide from her all this, all the time. Your actions weren't set on evading us, or the Taliban. We were easy to beat. But her… well, that was a challenge."

"Just great," Eliot huffed laughter. "You fight Sterling. I fight a creepy nurse. And I'm losing."

"As I said, we all get what we need," Nate smiled. "By the way, I thought for a long time that Sterling was my nemesis, but I've changed my mind," he glanced around them, over the office, over the five chairs around the table, then smiled. "It's… complicated."

There was no need to say more, Eliot grinned.

"I need one more day – I'll go to Boston and explain this shit."

"We're in Portland," Nate pointed out. "You'll go to Boston just to explain…" he sighed, shot with a nasty glare. "Yes, of course, you're right… go. In fact, it's good. You don't have to return at once, stay there for a day or two. I'll send Parker and Hardison to Washington and you can join them there. I have a client."

"To Washington?" He saw Eliot remembered their talk about diamonds before he left. "Is there any chance…"

"Yep. Diamonds galore. And Parker in the middle of that."

"Dear Lord."

Eliot looked at him, shook his head, picked up his phone and left with one quick wave.

.

.

.

.

"He was here, and he left an hour ago," Nate said when Hardison stomped down, followed by a flying Parker, and that stopped both of them, one in the step, one in the swing.

"What?!" Hardison hissed. "I told you to call me immediately when he returned… damn." In spite of his hissing, he was smiling. Parker too had an unusual gleam on her face. Yes, he knew they would be happy when they found out Eliot returned safely, but they wore those smiles _before_ he told them that.

"What's going on?"

They exchanged evil grins. _Just great_.

"Nothing, everything's fine," Parker sang. "When is he coming back? And why did you let him leave?"

"We had to talk, and now he had to leave… he's going to Boston for a day or two."

"Fuck… wait, what?" If it was possible, the grin on Hardison's face became even broader. "He is going to Boston to see Betsy? Peeerfect." He rubbed his palms and fetched a phone. "Yo, man, listen to me very carefully. You at the airport yet? Never mind, just listen. I'll send something to your phone. _You have to watch it_. No, not briefing materials, something completely different." He listened for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Don't know, don't care, just do as I told you. Trust me on this. I want you to promise me you'll watch- okay, that's rude. Simply rude. Stop with that language, and hang up now, I'm sending it. Watch it, remember!"

"Hah!" Hardison huffed and pressed a button on his phone, giving Parker a smile. "Sent."

"Okay, what's going on?" Nate asked when Parker giggled. Jesus, even Hardison was close to giggling.

"Well, we planned to wait for all of you and watch it together, but we peeked at the opening scene, and we couldn't stop… it was like meeting with the friends of old," the hacker pointed at their apartment above their heads.

"Watch what, Hardison?" Nate patiently asked.

A quick, half evil grin flew over Hardison's face. "The first episode of the season six of The Magnificent Seven: The Next Generation," he solemnly proclaimed, enjoying every syllable of it. "Last night was the season opening."

"And…?"

"Nothing," Hardison said innocently. Parker giggled again. "I just thought he had to see it. Now that I think about it, it's even better we didn't watch it all together… for different reasons. It's better if he's alone while watching it."

"You won't tell me anything, right?"

Hardison thought for a moment. "Nope," he shook his head. "No spoilers. But I can tell you that Florence did something that could destroy her – she started the season with a costume episode, that's something you usually do in the middle of a season, and it's always risky… but this episode, man, it rocked! She entwined two separate stories, one from the Old West, an homage to the original cast and, ekhm…" he cleared his throat and paused, thinking. "The Old West, when the main problem was distance, and a lack of communication devices… you know, two people, separated by an entire continent, not knowing where each of them were, simply couldn't find each other in that time…The way she mixed that storyline with the contemporary, the technological solution to the same problem was fabulous. And, well… no, I won't say anything further. But the way she solved that problem is…" He trailed off, struggling to find words. "You have to see it. I have it recorded, of course… go get Sophie, we'll make popcorn."

Parker pulled herself up to the upper level. "I'm on it."

"I checked the ratings, of course," Hardison continued, rubbing his hands together. "I hacked into Nielson and monitored it, she's doing great – all that fuss we created doubled her viewers. I think I'll wait to destroy Nielson's databases, they are working in our favor now – but I'll, just in case, add three hundred thousand viewers to each episode… that'll be a considerable amount near the end of the season, and C4 will beg her to stay with them."

Hardison went up the stairs but stopped and turned to him. "You know… there's no need to hurry with that Washington job… we can rest a few more days, right? Look at her poor leg… it would be torturous for her."

"Right," Nate hid a smile. "And that means that Eliot would have to spend those days in Boston, waiting to meet you when you arrive in Washington?"

"I knew you would get it. You know… I just realized that some messages in bottles _do_ find their way home. And Florence _is_ clever." Hardison swallowed a little, and smiled again. "Life is good. Especially when there's a happy end. That story _did_ continue on disc two, so to speak." With that, he turned and continued upstairs, leaving Nate to look at him.

Well, he smiled to himself… the hacker was right. Life _was_ good.

_And baby birds were ready to fly._

_._

_._

_._

THE END


End file.
